Chapter 38: The Self-Cultivation of a Canary (3)

After finishing her meal, Shen Handeng set down her utensils and instinctively reached out to her side, but grasped only empty air. Her hand paused in midair before she slowly withdrew it.

Ling Qiong stood up, poured a glass of water in the kitchen, and placed it beside him. Shen Handeng picked it up naturally, took a small sip, and put it back down.

...

After cleaning up, Ling Qiong stepped out of the kitchen. The very next moment, someone pulled her into a hidden corner. Shen Handeng clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

There were sounds on the stairs outside. The entire villa seemed to have only the stairs left bare, the rest covered in carpet, and the wooden steps echoed every footfall clearly.

A beam of light swept past from outside. Shielded by Shen Handeng, Ling Qiong couldn’t see what was happening.

The corner was narrow, forcing them close together. Shen Handeng was clearly uncomfortable, his body tense, resisting the intimacy.

Ling Qiong signaled for him to let her go, assuring him she wouldn’t make a sound.

He hesitated, then released her.

Ling Qiong breathed deeply, her nose filled with the subtle scent of flowers from Shen Handeng—it was quite pleasant.

The light outside gradually faded, footsteps sounded on the stairs, then all was quiet.

Shen Handeng didn’t move immediately, waiting a while longer to be sure. Only then did he step out.

“What are you so afraid of?” Ling Qiong was baffled. “You’re just eating a midnight snack—why worry about being caught?”

Shen Handeng said nothing, heading upstairs.

As soon as he left, Ling Qiong felt a chill creep over the place and hurried after him.

He didn’t utter another word, but kindly pointed out her room.

...

After returning to her room, Ling Qiong collapsed into bed and fell asleep.

The next morning, she was awakened by the witch’s knocking. Sitting up and rubbing her hair in annoyance, she went to open the door.

The witch’s face was dark with displeasure. “Do you know what time it is? Still sleeping? Change your clothes and come downstairs.”

She tossed Ling Qiong a set of clothes and turned away.

Ling Qiong stood there speechless.

It’s just an NPC, she told herself. No need to get angry—arguing with NPCs is beneath me.

She examined the dress: a pretty little black frock of good quality. That cheered her up a bit.

After changing, she went downstairs. Only the witch was there, preparing breakfast.

“Take this to the young master,” the witch instructed as soon as Ling Qiong descended.

On the table was a tray with an elegantly arranged breakfast—small portions, but a rich variety.

Shen Handeng’s room was at the end of the corridor, easily distinguished from the rest.

Ling Qiong raised her hand to knock. Before her knuckles landed, the door opened a crack by itself.

No one appeared.

She waited a few seconds, then peeked her head in.

The room was a mess. Various breakfast foods were scattered across the carpet by the door, clearly upended by the occupant.

She’d already delivered breakfast once, only to have the young master toss it all.

Now she was being sent again?

Ling Qiong withdrew her head, knocked firmly, then boldly pushed open the door and strode in.

The room was much larger than hers. A quick glance revealed no one about, but her gaze finally settled on the large bed.

The heavy quilt was slightly raised, forming the shape of a person.

Ling Qiong went to pull back the covers—only to find no one there, just two pillows lying quietly.

Damn!

Did the young master bolt?

He certainly hadn’t escaped.

Ling Qiong spotted him on the window ledge behind the curtains.

Shen Handeng, still in white pajamas, stood barefoot on the balcony ledge. The narrow stone was barely fifty centimeters wide, yet he balanced there, bathed in the morning sun, a faint golden glow outlining his figure.

“What are you doing?” Ling Qiong asked.

Shen Handeng spun around at the sound, so abruptly that his foot slipped and he teetered off the edge.

Ling Qiong’s eyes narrowed, and she sprang into action, clambering onto a nearby chair to grab him and drag him back inside.

They both tumbled in.

The floor was carpeted, but the impact of two bodies made little difference.

Ling Qiong cushioned Shen Handeng’s fall, her face screwed up in pain.

She pushed him off, gasping, “What are you doing? Standing out there so early—do you want to jump?”

“Are you alright?”

“Why don’t you try being the cushion?” she snapped.

Shen Handeng sat stiffly, seeming at a loss.

The fall had rattled Ling Qiong, and it took her a while to recover.

“Help me up.”

He uttered a quiet “oh” and awkwardly helped her to her feet.

Looking at his face, Ling Qiong found her anger subsiding.

Shen Handeng’s complexion was pale, perhaps from years without sunlight, but his skin was flawless—the sort even girls would envy. From head to toe, he radiated an effortless beauty.

“What were you doing just now?” she asked.

“Getting some air.”

Getting some air required standing outside?

He added, “If you hadn’t startled me, there wouldn’t have been an accident.”

“So you’re blaming me?”

Shen Handeng said nothing, but his meaning was clear—yes, he was blaming her.

Ling Qiong forced a smile, which quickly faded. She pointed at the breakfast tray. “Eat your breakfast.”

Shen Handeng walked over and flipped the tray.

What is wrong with you?

...

The witch seemed to anticipate this. When Ling Qiong came out, she was already carrying a new tray.

“Take this to the young master. Stay until he eats.”

Ling Qiong carried the tray back in, plopped herself down, and started eating with a spoon.

She was starving. Of course, feeding herself came first.

Shen Handeng stood by the bed, confused by her actions at first. Only when Ling Qiong raised her spoon to eat did he realize her intent. He strode over, about to upend the tray again.

“What are you doing?” Ling Qiong shielded the tray. “If you won’t eat, why can’t I? You’re not hungry, but I am. Is starving people part of your hospitality?”

“You’re not allowed to eat!”

Shen Handeng’s look now was just like when he’d yelled at her the night before, forbidding her to touch him.

So fierce.

Ling Qiong rolled her eyes inwardly and ignored him.

Shen Handeng glared at her for a few seconds, then abruptly yanked the covers over himself, burying his entire body in bed.

Ling Qiong finished the meal and brought the empty tray back to report in.

The witch gave her a strange look but said nothing suspicious.

“From now on, you’ll bring his breakfast.”

Ling Qiong forced a smile. “Alright.”

She was exceedingly glad she’d eaten Shen Handeng’s breakfast. The witch hadn’t prepared any for her at all—if she hadn’t eaten, she’d have gone hungry all morning.

With no other tasks assigned, Ling Qiong returned to her room to study the illustrated guidebook.

On Shen Handeng’s page, there were eighteen illustrations.

With her excellent eyesight, Ling Qiong found the brief character description:

Shen Handeng, heir of the Shen family, but the family is controlled by his stepmother, who’s tormented him with countless excuses since childhood. As a boy, Shen Handeng couldn’t resist and had no choice but to endure. By the time he grew up, his temperament had become odd and difficult. If it weren’t for the fact that he was the sole heir, and that if he died all the family’s wealth would be donated, his stepmother would likely have driven him to his death long ago.